


Loyalty to One Man

by Conversity



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alien Biology, Death from Old Age, Flirty Spock, Growing Old Together, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Loyalty, M/M, Mating Bond, Orions, Pheromones, Possessive Jim, Reaffirming Love, Space Husbands, Twi'leks, old married spirk, spirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 14:05:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5969767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Conversity/pseuds/Conversity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the years, Jim finds that Spock is well adored by many people and creates a game out of bringing his Vulcan back to him. In the end, Spock proves his loyalty knows no bounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If You Love It, Let It Go

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little idea I had about these two and their relationship. This has gotten out of hand.  
> Wow my first multichaptered finished story! :) thanks so much for all the support!

The Orion male was an Alpha. Spock could deduce such from the height, strong set shoulders, and sharp aristocratic nose, but also from the medicated, sterile scent that lingered on the man as Spock spoke with him. Pheromone suppressors had been an enormous leap in biological technology, giving various species the ability to turn off their natural responses to reeling in a mate, but the Alpha didn't need subconscious triggers to rouse attention.

"Your work in A.I. construction is absolutely beautiful, Mr. Spock." Gavin gave a dashing smile that lit his eyes, the champagne glass in his hand shimmering with the chandelier light and reflecting on his uniform buttons. "I'd even dare say that you've taken the tech and made an art out of robotics." He took a sip, lips lingering on the gold laced rim, and shifted another light step forward, easing his way into Spock's presence as if to test the stability of the metaphorical ice. 

The compliments were harmless but to hear such an accomplished man shamelessly give praise made Spock's ears tingle as he tipped his head in modest recognition. "I only seek to move forward with my research. I am honored that you find my pursuits have produced desired results. Though I would not say that it is 'art' nor 'beautiful', I understand where one may view the advancements in such a manner." Spock spoke truthfully, methodically void of pride or any other emotion toward his achievement or the attention it received, but Gavin must have caught the twinkle of warmth in his eyes because the Orion gave a crooked smirk, sly and sweet as he leaned toward the Vulcan.

"I'd love to see you at work, sir." Gavin's eyes slowly traveled from Spock's fingertips to his bare wrist, his eyelashes long and fanned as his gaze rose to meet Spock's. "If it so pleases you." 

"I am always eager to teach." The Vulcan simply answered, hoping that his speech patterns covered up the vague invitation as be turned and made a small gesture to the door.

"Shall we?" He beckoned with an elegantly raised brow and Gavin began to wonder who was courting who now as he nodded slowly and licked his lips.

"Of course."  
\----------  
The Vulcan took long strides, leading the way as Gavin kept tracing a path over the Vulcan’s strong shoulders, down the length of his spine, and the swell of his swaying hips. Their conversation on AI configuration and their use in the 23rd century had deluded into personal life, where Gavin had admitted to overcoming the slavery on his home planet to become a scientist, and Spock was now devolving his secret in choosing Starfleet over the Vulcan Science academy. He couldn’t say he was listening entirely, not as the moon reflected in his dark hair and, when Spock turned to ask the Orion a question, glinted in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Gavin smiled sincerely, “I wasn’t listening.” He stopped then on the sidewalk and inwardly preened when Spock followed suit. 

“Is that so?”

“Yes. You are quiet distracting.”

“At least you are honest.” Spock tried to keep his Vulcan tone, its neutrality giving him space between Gavin’s blatant adoration and hopefully show grace at accepting the compliment. There was a beat of silence between them; something that felt fragile and unsteady before the wind caught just right at Spock could taste the scent of pheromones in the air, the medicated suppressors wearing off. There was no doubt he was wanted, not with how Gavin’s large hands tightened as his sides, his eyes ringed with his lust. 

Their swaying dance of flirtations back at the gala were pushed aside as Gavin pressed up against Spock, head tipped to press them nose to nose. He didn’t dare move, afraid of unsettling his carefully formulated plan; letting the Orion smooth his cheek against his neck and jaw, no doubt smearing him in his scent. Gavin felt another set of eyes on him, the same pair that had watched him steal the Vulcan away from the main hall, and their weight pushed him to skirt his boundaries. Spock let Gavin pull at his dress uniform collar, teeth careful of the fabric as he felt for the place where he wanted to mark him. 

But before he could decide, Gavin felt the Vulcan’s sure hands pressing at his shoulders, a strange, tender expression smoothing his stern façade. 

“I apologize if I’m too forward,” Gavin’s smile made his words purr, unabashedly confident even in the face of rejection. 

“Vulcans secrete subtler pheromone responses than Orion senses can detect. It is not your fault, as humans would say. I must admit that the hot chocolate served at the dance has dulled my inhibitions.” Spock licked his lips for the added effect of watching Gavin’s eyes follow the tip of his tongue. Another harbor breeze swept away most of the potent atmosphere, clearing his head, and Spock straightened against his captor. “Thank you for your company, but I must depart.” 

Gavin’s hands moved up the strong line of his spine, eyes now tracing the fringe of his bangs, his sharp eyebrows, and the unreadable mien. He was undoubtedly attracted to the strong Vulcan body, the bridled passions simmering right under the cold mask, and the fizz of his telepathy where their skin touched. But most of all, the Vulcan was bonded, he could smell it on him, the strong scent of flannel, human cologne, a touch of salted sweat. The thought of a bonded Vulcan seeking him out, courting him politely beneath the gaze of his mate, only to refuse and retreat to that human’s bed…

It sparked something deliciously dangerous in the Orion. He felt hunted, caught, unable to tear away from the irresistible Vulcan who kept baiting him. 

Again, Spock’s incessant hands sought to create space between them, and Gavin allowed it. He’d played his role for the night, had showed that Spock was highly desirable, could catch someone of his caliber, and once he’d had him, would retreat back to his captain loyally. So be it. 

“I thank you,” Spock intoned, his Orion accent flawless around the language. Spock must know that he knew, because he suddenly lost the enticing spark in his eyes, their depths guarded and cold as the wind. 

Gavin nodded, his throat tight with the swell of his emotions, damming the pleas that wanted to gush forth. There was a moment in which Gavin thought he might kneel before the Vulcan and beg to be taken, or maybe to watch Spock go back to his human, to witness the reaffirmation which no doubt would be like two quasars colliding, all pulsing energy, gravitational pulls too strong to ignore, shredding each other apart until they were together. 

Spock’s fingers touched the crook of his jaw, sending Gavin a wave of gratitude to warm him, before he turned and stalked across the empty street, his shadow casting long beneath the street lamps.  
\----------  
“He really wanted you.” 

Jim’s hands were hot and incessant, buzzing across his wet skin, sweat covered, as he pinned Spock harder, covering the Vulcan’s body with his own. 

“I would never…” Spock started to breathlessly confirm, until his mate’s hand found his hardening cock curving against his belly, and nothing else was important aside from the pleasuring boiling in his veins. 

Jim laughed against his slick shoulder, his teeth catching the skin, tasting himself there. “I know you wouldn’t. But I like knowing that you could. And yet you always come back.” His next thrust was deep and slow, making Spock press his forehead against the pillow, hands clenching at the shredded sheets. 

When Jim had proposed letting Spock wander through the gala, just to catch the eye of the other attendants, he hadn’t equated how much it’d affect him. And then when the Orion had set his sights and Spock had played along, Jim was hooked. Their relationship might still be a new wound they were cautiously trying to keep closed and clean, but there was something about letting a stranger pick at the stitches that had Jim possessively scrambling to please his Vulcan for coming back, while also staking irrevocable claim upon his alien body and soul. 

Spock drew in a shuddering breath; bearing his hips back against Jim’s to keep their connection, and clenched his muscles, heightening their closeness. It sent a jolt of electricity through Jim, who rewarded Spock by threading their fingers and mouthing at the back of his neck, widening his bond bite. 

“Maybe I should flaunt you more often.” Jim let his quivering muscles relax, dropping his weight against Spock, buried to the hilt. “Dress you up and show you off to all the others.” Spock could barely hear Jim’s voice over the possessive, enflamed thoughts bleeding into his psyche through their entwined hands. He tried to grind back, to start another rhythm between them, but Jim was exhausted from staving off their orgasms for so long and simply wanted to bask in his husband, pinned and helpless beneath him. 

“You are aware that I could easily overpower you,” Spock's breath was warm against Jim’s cheek where he laid. 

Jim couldn’t stop the bubble of laughter, rising up to press his forehead between Spock’s shoulder blades; one hand moving to cover Spock’s racing heartbeat. 

“I love you,”

“I know,” Spock quoted teasingly, and wasn’t surprised when Jim rolled his hips, sharp and deep, biting at his shoulder to ground him. It didn’t take very long for either to finish, not with Spock pouring out his adoration through their open bond and Jim bruising his body in the attempt to brand himself on his skin.


	2. Not What We Planned For

The Catian watching Spock from the stairway dared not hide his affection, in case the Vulcan mistook the attention as professional, and made quiet the effort to catch Spock’s eye. First were the drinks, bright colors and fizz served on trays of silver by the wait staff, followed by soft brushes as he passed, feigning innocence when Abassa’s tail curled around Spock’s elbow, unsettling his regal posture.  


Jim had to admit, he hadn’t seen someone so enticed with his husband before, and Spock seemed to enjoy the little act as Abassa kept flickering his gaze from his conversation with the Andorian ambassador to where Spock was perched at the bar, dark hair gleaming in the low light, lips pursed around the rim of his third free drink. 

Abassa excused himself with a smile and padded toward the marble island, his dark spots gleaming against the grey silk of his fur, handsome and powerful as he stalked closer, footsteps becoming lighter, slower as he neared. His shoulders rolled back as he took a strong inhale, no doubt picking up the scent of liqueur, cologne, and Spock’s desert spice. 

There was a small pause as Spock set down his drink and turned cold eyes at the sound of Abassa’s stilted breathing, catching the predator right before the kill. Jim slipped from the shadowed corridor into the main ballroom, its velvet curtains draped long and heavy over the windows, keeping the room coolly dim. Effortlessly, the slow writhing bodies adorning the dance floor parted for him, giving him a clear line of sight as Abassa tipped his head down, ears alert, and pressed the hard line of his body against Spock’s side. 

“You’ve barely glanced my way,” he chided in a warm breath, the wire of his whiskers sweeping across the Vulcan’s clean shaven cheek, “Are the drinks not to your liking?”

Spock turned to him with that blank façade, his raised brows giving him an even more blameless mien as he answered in a smooth tone, “My apologies.” He dropped his eyes to the Catian’s bare throat before holding his gaze. “I was unaware you were the benefactor.” 

“Who else would be buying you drinks?” Abassa laid a firm paw on the low back of the stool and the other on the marble of the bar, bracketing Spock from escaping, and Jim felt a subtle prickle of heat at how Spock shyly bent his head beneath the other male’s eager regard. He had to take an empty seat at one of the booths to keep out of sight, and hopefully taper off his own arousal before he did something embarrassing. 

If there was one thing that Jim loved about this little arrangement, it was that Spock never played the same game when he chose a target. At first he had simply accepted the attention of whoever’s eye he had caught, but the more aliens and humanoids that came chasing after him, the more confidence he set at the back of his arsenal, until each encounter was meticulously thought out, the scene drawn before he and Kirk even parted for the night. Spock would give into whatever fantasy the other opponent assumed when they spotted him where he had placed himself to be caught. Some thought him too Vulcan and wanted to unleash his suppressed warrior nature, a few thought him reformed from Vulcan logic, some sort of wild outcast and wished to peek into that forbidden, emotional chaos, while most simply wanted the chance to claim someone as highly acclaimed as the Enterprise’s First Officer. And for each one, Spock was what they wanted, whether it was the stoic, hard won, and dangerous leader or the soft, coy treat for the taking. 

To Jim, he was all of those, and seeing him execute the performance flawlessly endeared him to his Vulcan even more. 

Abassa seemed not to notice that he had fallen for the entire ruse, like a tiny piece of space rock made a moon by a large star. He had no idea this star could go supernova at any moment. And much like moons, he kept orbiting, coaxed in by the clear sheen of want in Spock’s eyes, the minute way the Vulcan angled his body to him as he spoke his soft, warm words. 

Catians had been notorious hunters in their past and for Abassa, who had already spent most of the night attempting to lure Spock in with no luck, cornering Spock was the last step before he could enjoy his successful catch. Just a few more words to get the Vulcan to follow him back to his hotel room and it’d be over.

Best of all, this was the end. Spock was cornered by one of the most skilled predators here, vulnerable and indebted, and yet he’d say no. Maybe sneak a glimpse at Jim in answer when he explained himself already bonded.

Spock was no doubt talking up a very convincing verbal spar, if the excited flick of Abassa’s tail was anything to go by. Any minute now, the poor thing would slink away, embarrassed and maybe even jealous while he watches Jim go home with Spock without any effort on his part, though their lovemaking later would be gloriously biased toward Spock in gratitude. 

Except, as Jim grabbed a stout glass of Romulan Ale, Spock nodded to something Abassa had whispered in his ear and let him lead the way toward one of the ceiling high doors, toward the east exit. 

Something cold vitrified in Kirk as he watched the royal guards open the doors when the couple excused themselves out into the fresh open air, no doubt toward the staircase raising up to the hotel’s different floors. By the time Jim had hurriedly followed, there was no one out on the veranda, only the faint noise of the party inside and the hushed conversations from open room windows above. He turned the corner nervously, unsure of what to expect, because this hadn’t been part of the plan. 

What if the Abassa had taken Spock by force under a threat, livid that his catch was already taken, a waste of credits and time? 

But there had been no cry for help over their mental link, Spock hadn’t said the word they had agreed to if they ever wanted to quit early, if something went wrong. 

What if Spock had finally met a match worthy of…

The thought upset Jim’s stomach to the point of pure nausea and when he reached over their shared bond for reassurance, the only answer was the dark confines of Spock’s locked mind.  


The stone bench hedging the courtyard before the rose maze beyond was cold beneath him as he clasped his head in his hands, scrubbing at his eyes, cussing at himself for even suggesting this. Loaning Spock out for the night was a wonderful theory, but there was a strict understanding that it was always within their control. Nothing was accidental, nothing left to chance, and now here he sat, sick to his stomach, mind empty, lamenting the idea of telling Spock to go preen beneath stranger’s gazes. 

“I’m so stupid,” he confessed to the cold night air, the fairy lights ringing the veranda blurry as his eyes stung with tears. Anger licked up his closed throat, and he swallowed against his hitched breathing, enflamed enough to start his own hunt, ready to tear apart whoever came in between him and his mate. 

Humans might not have the heightened sense to track scents, nor the ears to pick up the miniscule sounds leading him to the enemy’s lair, but Jim’s propriety got him further. A sweet smile to a waitress serving champagne for guests stargazing outside earned him the truth about Abassa; he was a wealthy, recently freed pet who came into money when his owner was taken to prison for intergalactic trafficking. A soft, worried expression to an Andorian bringing a box of fireworks for tonight’s show made the alien stop and point out where he’d seen the odd couple walk off too, the third floor stairwell. His lips against the creamy throat of an Orion got him a stern lecture on staying faithful to his lifemate until Jim explained what had happened, and his honesty won him a crash course in hacking hotel firewalls as the Orion broke into the network and was able to pinpoint Abassa’s room.  


“Catians would never claim someone outside of their own quarters. If you think they’ve slunk off for intimacy, you won’t find them tangled in the grass.” Malicai’s fingers were quick and precise as they tapped away on the keyboard, “Room 347.” 

Jim thanked him and agreed when Malicai told him to hold on better to his husband, racing up the stairs with little thought other than reuniting with his husband.  


That was, until Jim slowed in the hallway after a harsh reprimand from a cleaning lady about running in the halls, and the slow pace forced him to string together what was truly ailing him. He was absolutely furious that Spock had left with that Catian without even a glimpse his way, without some sort of excuse sent mentally. But what if this is what Spock thought Jim wanted? Maybe somewhere between the harmless flirting Spock began to believe that Jim craved to share him with strangers, thought the taboo idea of having so much control that after consummation, Jim till wished to fiercely claim him was what the human desired. 

Had they crossed the fine line without ever noticing? 

With a scowl and a steely breath, Jim picked the lock with the laser blade he kept in his boot, and pushed open the door.  
\-----------------  


Spock didn’t know what had taken so long. He had almost brought himself off four times when he finally picked up the sound of the door opening, and he relaxed back into the feathered pillows, ready for his self-torture to be over. But Jim didn’t pounce on him like he had expected, instead, stood in the door way glassy eyed, brow crinkled, and hands tightly fisted as he took in the sight of his bond mate. 

When Spock lowered his shields, the cresting waves of Jim’s self-loathing foamed up like a tidal pool, filling with every drop of insecurity possible, and he was surprised when Jim spoke the hoarse words, 

“Was he any good?” 

The brittle air between them made Spock shiver, and something in his mate’s cruel gaze stripped Spock as if he wasn’t already naked. His hand grabbed for the robe he had laid over the chair and once he was dressed he went to Kirk with open arms, his hands palm up in the Vulcan sign of submission. 

“What pains you?” Spock asked as he dropped to his knees, eyes on Jim as the human tries to look anywhere but at his husband, and when Spock’s fingertips touch the thin line of skin between Jim’s dress jacket and his watch, he feels the hot whip of disgust through their link. “What is wrong?” 

“I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I didn’t want you to actually go through with it. But maybe I deserve this, for making you flirt with others,” Jim starts, unable to focus on his begging mate, but not wanting to search the room for signs of his disloyalty. “I knew that Vulcans were an extremely monogamous species and I never should have brought up the idea of pretending to cheat, it wasn’t right, I can’t believe I did this.” 

“Jim, you did not-“

“I did though! I keep testing you to see if you’d come back to me even when you have famous scientists and other captains and the princes of new planets all vying for your attention, and then reveling in the idea that you always come back. Its fucking selfish is what it is! I’m an arrogant, ignorant ass,”

“Please, Jim, if you would let me explain-“

“And look at you! Even now trying to convince me that everything is ok when clearly it’s…” Jim’s sentence trailed off as, right then, all of the details of the room came together in a sudden clarity that could only be attributed to Spock’s gentle, mental coaxing. The bed is still made, there is incense burning in the pewter holder on the dresser, a chilled bottle of Surian Brandy on the bedside table, Jim’s uniform is hanging on the back of the bathroom door, neatly laundered, and there is a bouquet of sunflowers on the window sill with a birthday card nestled in its buttery petals.

“Spock?” Jim's almost breathless as the Vulcan stands and presses his palms to his flushed cheeks. 

“I had surmised that for your birthday we could ‘switch things up’ as the human phrase goes. I had the staff move all of our belongings for a four night stay here to our rooms and Abassa agreed to pretend that we would leave together. That would lead to you valiantly coming to my rescue and the resulting, passionate claiming that always follows, but as you can see, it did not go as planned. It should seem that even after all this time bonded, you still surprise me.” 

No words could form as Jim took the idea of Spock, straight laced and conniving, setting up an elaborate scheme to get Kirk to chase him. 

“You enjoy when I have the attention of others and, while I find that it is not unwelcome, I would much rather have yours.” 

And wasn’t that just icing on the cake? 

The next kiss they shared was tender, the sort that might follow a good bye, because Jim found himself shuddering into it, tears wetting the kiss as he let the emotional turmoil he had worked himself into dissipate. 

Jim hid his hot cheeks into his bond mate’s shoulder and laughed wetly at the ridiculousness. 

“I love you,” Spock said into his hair, his hands holding tightly to his shaking human, still a bit dazed at how tonight had gone. 

“I know.” 

Their bond flared with the implication, leaving Jim breathless and ready to enjoy his birthday gift fully.


	3. Plus One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock and Jim decide to bring someone into their room this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aris, the extra lover in this chapter, is a Twi'lek, an alien from the Star Wars franchise. I wanted to add cool characters that sci-fi fans would recognize the species andbe able to envision them without too much lengthy detail spent on the bodies and how they work. Go look up Twi'leks if you need a reference. :) Educate yourselves. 
> 
> Lekku are the head-tails on a Twi-lek, and they have a pretty good range of motion.  
> Apologies, I didn't do too much research on the species, so if anything is way off, that's my fault.

“You know, Vulcans are a fantasy on my planet,” Aris mentions over their dinner, the chandelier light bringing out her ruby like freckles, “Stories are told of how rare they are now, their logic and obedience feeding the mystery of their control. On the slave trade, your race has become very pricy.” She eats delicately from her fork and refuses to give up Spock’s gaze, licking her lips. 

“I have seen your own mark,” is his counter, eyes flickering to his watch and then to the brand on her violet shoulder. The scar is a shade of magenta that matches the flush in her cheeks when he makes her laugh and from its clean edges, Spock discerns it’s been healed but it’s as evident and telling as if she was still chained. “Surely you are not a master wishing to make a profit of me.” 

The glitter in her eyes reflects mirth, and Spock warms that his observation has not upset her. Aris is not a dignitary, simply a performer for tonight’s guests, but he doesn’t want to lose her respect, not after finally catching her eye. She was beautiful and self-assured, too understanding of her own worth to hunt him herself. In truth, Aris wasn’t even the person Spock and Jim had decided on playing in their little game tonight, but once she had batted a long lash towards Jim and brushed her fingertips across Spock’s as she had passed, there was no other action than to follow her. 

“I’m a scientist at heart, just like you. I like to control experiments and watch the results.” He smells something close to arousal on her, and there’s no doubt she is not speaking of a lab setting. “So Mr. Spock, tell me, what are humans like?” Her attention is again focused on her plate of vegetables, forcing Spock to pick and choose his words to garner her again. 

“They are wholly unpredictable and yet follow a base pattern. I find myself still in awe at how varied human beings are in and of themselves.” 

“What about your human?” Her tone is blithe, as disinterested as she seems with her food, when she rolls her fork around the greens and oils, but her lekku are wiggling with a sort of sentient curiosity which pleases Spock.

“Jim is…” there’s at least four languages in which Spock could describe his bondmate and still not span the breadth of his being. Aris notices as the love sick Vulcan goes starry eyed in an attempt to prove his choice in husband, and she’s glad she’s chosen this one. 

Tonight will be extraordinary. 

The waiter sweeps in on their silence and fills their glasses with more wine, and it’s as Spock catches the glint of the sapphire in the glass that he finds his voice again.  
“Jim is insatiable. In all accounts. He is a man governed by his passions, his own responsibilities settled deep on his shoulders, and in everything he is kind and compassionate.”  
“Such lovely words. You are a right poet, my dear Vulcan.”

Spock nods in gratitude as he cups his glass of wine and holds it out for a toast. 

“I would ask that you accompany me tonight,” is his plea, his eyes unable to focus as he takes in the glow of her skin, her dewy lips, the sheen of her slave brand, and at last, her husky, breathless, ‘yes’ in reply. 

\-------------------------------------------------

When the night had started, Jim had his eyes set on a young, Andorian musician, with long fingers and a shy smile when the crowd applauded him. Spock would no doubt put the poor boy through the paces, looking like a predator ready to devour the young thing whole, only to stalk away at the last possible moment and lay those teeth into Jim behind their hotel doors. 

But that entire fantasy is just smoke to be waved away as he lays his head back onto Aris’s soft, alien breast and settles comfortably in the crook of her thighs. 

“Such a color,” Aris coos, one of her claw- like nails tracing the splotches of blush down his neck. When he chuckles at her touch, she smiles, and tries to get him to make the noise again. 

“Hey, hey, stop!” Jim laughs, ticklish and breathless as he tries to twist out of her hold. The gown she’s wearing is silk and slippery against his naked skin, the white lace a glowing contrast to her pastel color. “I thought this was about Spock.” 

At his name, the Vulcan turns from his own undressing at the end of the bed, and raises an eyebrow. “Correction: Aris stated this was about us.” 

“That’s exactly right.” The twi’lek is careful with her nails as she strokes down Jim’s body, avoiding his interested cock and moving back up his belly. “Tonight, I am but a tool in your lovemaking. Just focus on each other and I’ll handle the rest.” 

Jim shudders at the deep pitch of her voice, hips curling as he watches Spock melt too, his Vulcan finally joining them on the bed, naked and powerful as he crawls forward.  
“Slowly,” she narrates, “roll your shoulders as you near. Let him see those muscles.” 

Jim’s eyes automatically skim over the dimples there in Spock’s back as he dips forward and does as she says, the tension of waiting for that body to cover his unbearably thick, choking. 

Aris senses him tensing and rubs her smooth thumb across the seam of his lips. 

“Breathe,” her nose hits a spot behind his ear that makes him weak and as he’s distracted by her, Spock wraps his arms beneath Jim’s thighs, breath hot over his straining cock. “Easy now. He’s delicate, remember?” 

Spock nods, swiping the tip of his rough tongue against the crown and Jim arches, unrestrained, desperate. Airs is there though, her arms around his chest, her lekku keeping Jim’s hands held behind her head. He’s stretched out and unable to get away, surrendered to the strength of his captor and the mercy of his bondmate. 

There’s a cool hand around him then, pumping slowly, and Jim rolls his head against Aris’s breasts, mouth open as he cries, soundless. 

“He’s so red,” she comments, petting at his flexing stomach and the thick trail of hair there, “use your mouth. Soothe him.” 

And Jim could weep out of gratitude once Spock finally rings his mouth around him, lips slick and curled over his teeth to slide around his sensitive head. Its only Aris’s strong arms holding him in place which keeps him unable to wrench away and force Spock over him harder, faster. 

“More, please,” 

There’s a soft sigh in his ear at his manners, or maybe the tone of his plea, and Spock is pulling back and suckling him in again, luxuriating in the feel of swallowing Jim down his throat and keeping the organ there. He breathes evenly through his nose, all that practice put to good use as he continues constricting his throat, thumbs wedged between Jim’s cheeks, pressing gently on his balls. 

“Oh, look, what devotion!” Aris compliments and Jim’s heart swells because finally, someone can see how perfectly he’s taken care of, how jealous others should be of him. “Thank him, Jim. Such a good mate you have.” 

Her lekku loosen and when he draws his arms in front of him, his fingers are tingling where they’ve fallen asleep. Slowly, he brings a hand to Spock’s cheek and presses his thumb against the verdant flush, feeling the ridge of teeth and then the soft indention of where he was lodged. Spock’s tongue slicked against the underside at the pinch of Jim’s hold, and he withdrew, carefully, putting on show. As he panted, Spock didn’t even try to catch the extra saliva that drooled down his chin.

Aris beckoned him forward with her fingers, and when Spock was within reach, she caught his face in her hands and guided him in kissing Jim, sloppy and wet and heated. He held his mouth open and let himself be moved, Jim’s tongue coming out and catching his as Aris rolled her hips and pressed Jim up against him. But instead of setting a delicious rhythm, she relaxes back and laughs as Jim goes pliant on top of her, moaning out when she presses Spock against his chest and the Vulcan latches on. 

“Say his name,” she whispers, and Jim is too focused on not coming as his ruts against the hard line of Spock’s stomach to answer. “Say his name.”

“Spock,” he breathes when she pinches his nipple, and he tries to file it away that even though Aris is not partaking in the sex, she can’t be ignored. 

“Louder.” 

“Spock!” 

Its then that Aris lets goes of Spock and the Vulcan climbs up on his knees, Jim’s legs caught in his elbows, chest heaving with his gasps. 

Her lekku hold Jim’s knees up and apart as Spock begins to pump his cock furiously over Jim’s, the slick of his self-lubrication splattering on the flushed skin beneath him. There’s enough that it pools in the hollow of Jim’s hips and then dribbles down over his exposed hole, the muscle tight and furrowed in the blood flushed crease beneath his tight sac.

“Spock, do it now.” Jim whines, catching his mate’s incensed gaze searing into him. 

But Aris is there, holding him back, her words like ice water as she says sweetly, “No, not yet,” and sure enough, Spock brushes the tip of his member over Jim’s quivering entrance, halts there. Jim feels like he’s being boiled, skin about to split, and writhes uselessly for any sort of friction. The lace of her nightgown scratches his sweat slicked back, he feels the gossamer glued to him, there’s no air in his lungs as he rolls his eyes back and begs from some empty pit in his body. 

“Please, anything, do it,”

A strong hand presses into the swoop of his stomach, brushes the tip of his drooling cock.

“Spock, I need-”

The fingers travel farther upwards to wrap around his throat and there’s tears burning his eyes when finally Aris’s grip on his limbs loosen, and he’s free, Jim can finally…

“Come Jim.”

He blacks out right as her lips press his name into the stubble of his jaw. 

\---------------------------------

Aris peels out of her nightgown, the spots of Jim’s sweat stained and slippery, and wraps her cloak around her bare shoulders. “He’s a fighter, that one. I’d say you have your hands full.” 

Spock is too preoccupied with brushing a wet cloth across Jim’s thighs, tenderly cleaning him, to acknowledge her with anything but a nod. 

“Thank you.” Her honesty is clear in her eyes, as well as the soft waves of gratitude she’s emitting like a cool ocean. “If you ever have need for a catalyst, I’m sure we can find each other again.” 

“Yes, I’m certain Jim would be amenable.” If Spock is shy about his nudity, he doesn’t show it, not with how he stalks across the room to retrieve the comforter they had folded up before their fun. His attention is wholly on Jim, who’s still sleeping off that intense immersion, wrapping the blanket around the human before he brushes back the thick, ruffled bangs and kisses him soundly. 

Aris watches the domesticity and smiles, her lekku curling happily behind her. It’s not often that a couple can share what they have with a stranger and never in such a capacity. For a moment she experiences heartbreak, envy, loss, and in turn she reminds herself that this was for her as well. She’d been the giver, the master, the keeper of this entire night, without her, this would not have gone as planned. 

It’s with another soft brush of fingers with Spock that she accepts the roses on the bedside table, a gift Jim had insisted after hearing her sing at the performance tonight, and then she leaves them.

Right before the door closes, she steals a quick glance over her shoulder, and witnesses Spock slip beneath the covers, curling his body protectively against the human. 

“I love you.” She hears him speak to the quiet room, and when the door clicks shut, she’s alone in the hallway. 

“He knows.” Aris confirms, nosing at the roses, contented.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an asexual, all my sex scenes are guesstimated. I don't now if this is what ya'll want to see, but I'm doing my best with what I've got lol. Any comments and reviews are well appreciated.


	4. Always, My Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its been thirty years and the Enterprise is finally retiring. Where does that leave Jim, who doesn't know how to cope with his newly acquired uselessness? Will Spock's loyalty continue in the face of change?

The banner hanging over the buffet table was crooked, the folds gathering uneven on one side in a way that Jim found sloppy, unacceptable. He tried reaching up on tip toe to straighten it, his balance more wobbly than in his younger years, only for Uhura to pull him back by the tail of his dress uniform. 

“If you fall and topple over the cake Christine and I designed, I will resign my commission,” she quipped when he turned, a pout melting his lips. 

“It’s crooked,” 

“It’s fine.” Uhura squeezed his shoulder, her wedding ring glinting in the chandelier lighting. “He won’t even notice it, not with you standing in the room.” There was a fond tint to her tone which colored Jim’s cheeks and thankfully she turned her attention to an ensign carrying a tray of chocolates and began directing him in Andorian, leaving Kirk to sulk alone. 

This was it. The last soiree to see them off for good. With the Enterprise’s last successful mission completed the wonderful silver lady was headed for dry dock to undergo a new refit and crew. The lead command team already signed their contracts, mostly to start teaching at the Academy, some ready for retirement. Jim hadn’t seen Spock’s drafted resume, but he assumed the Captain would choose to stay in San Francisco, maybe take a student or two under-wing for tutelage. But as farewells went, this was big. Monumental even. 

“Oh, stop whatever reminiscing you’re wallowing in,” there was a pause, and without looking, Jim knew it was because Bones was taking a draw of liquor, “Depression never suited you.” 

The doctor looked good, Jim thought, as he turned and took the offered glass. A sip told him it was an ale, but the fluorescent fascia color didn’t hint from where. Leonard was practically glowing in the mood lighting; he’d been waiting for this day since he’d gotten onto the Enterprise, ready for age to take Jim’s captain’s chair from him so Bones could finally relax in some back country cabin. Jim downed the last dregs of the glass to choke his spite. 

“I’m not wallowing. Just…what if this is the end?” 

Bones scrunched his eyebrows sourly, the lines around his mouth more pronounced that Jim remembers suddenly. 

“Please don’t start quoting some humdrum poem about all this,” he gestured to the bedecked ball room. “We’ve had a great 30 years. More than enough time on that ship, with these people. And it’s not like our only way of communication is letter writing. So stop looking like you’re going off to war.” 

McCoy had a point, as usual, but Jim disagreed. Thirty years wasn’t anywhere near enough time. Just last week they’d found a new planet that orbited two host stars and was donut-shaped with a moon which traveled through its center. Who was going to explore it, some wet behind the ears ensigns and their reckless Captain? There were endless scientific discoveries out there, just beyond reach, right over that hill, if Jim could just scale high enough. But now, with his ship decommissioned, his crew all happily heaving a sigh as they settle into the next section of their lives, he was helpless. Unnecessary. 

“Aren’t you going to miss this?” He asks as Bones looks out at the guests, mostly familiar faces, and for a second, he can almost pretend they’re celebrating one more year on the Enterprise. 

“No.” 

“Bones.” 

“Of course I’m going to miss this. But all that gallivanting across the cosmos? Not one bit. Now I know that all my friends are safe and sound right here on Earth, no alien diseases to catch, no accidents in Engineering to soothe, not a single case of transporter malfunction to try and straighten. Yeah, it might be boring for a spell, but overall I can relax. Chief Medical Officer of a fleet flagship is a heavy burden to finally let off my shoulders.” He catches a long stemmed glass from the passing waiter and cringes on the first sip of the fruity concoction. “Why can’t they just serve whiskey?” 

There isn’t really a silence since the room is milling about with guests all chatting amicably, retelling stories, the favorites, the greats, enthusiastically detailing the legends for the new ensigns to have a tale or two to carry with them on their own adventures. Yet, the space between Jim and Leonard grows in the absence of words.

“This isn’t over, Jim.” Bones states, swallowing past the sweet aftertaste and finishing his drink like it’s a shot. 

“I know.” The agreement is feint and flimsy but McCoy takes it as he peels away from Jim’s side, no doubt to catch up with M’Benga whom he hasn’t seen since the doctor took a sabbatical to New Vulcan two years before. 

It isn’t long for people to notice that James Kirk is alone and he’s flooded with a mess of admirers, all vying for just a sliver of his gallantry. It’s reinvigorating in a way he hasn’t felt for some time and the fresh faces are so young and agreeable. They’re mostly students, up-in-coming star ship personnel who all wish to hear the heraldings of the youngest captain in Starfleet, though some are admirals who Jim has worked with before when he’d taken a desk job while recovering from a nasty wound earned on a first contact assignment. Their attention is different than the ensigns; there’s a cool recognition and assessment which disarms Jim for a split second before he can don his own arrogance and parry back at their spiked barbs of conversation. 

“So I hear you’ve accepted the teaching position,” one says, his grey eyes like dull nickel set in the rustic dunes of his face. “Much more appropriate for a human your age.” 

Another agrees with a slight nod into his wine glass. “And your first officer will make a very fine ambassador, you must be proud to send him off to his duties.” 

That vapid remark makes Jim choke on the pastry he’d been nibbling on, sputtering as he wiped his mouth and tried to recoil from the news.

“Actually, Mr. Spock has yet to submit his orders. It’s a large decision we’ve yet to discuss.” 

“Oh.” Kli’tak, Jim thinks that’s his name, says shortly, turning to his compatriots as if to share his confusion. “Well, we were under the impression that Mr. Spock would return to Vulcan and finally take a bondmate which suited him. My mistake, I must have misheard him when we spoke.” 

Jim goes cold at the implication, that Spock has made plans without him, even told others of what he’s decided to do with his spare time now that he no longer co-runs a ship and science department. They’d made no promises to one another yet about their future careers but as Bones had said, thirty years had been a long time. Thirty years of sharing quarters, of flaunting their relationship to strangers, of finding the nooks and crannies of each other until there was no dark place for the other to hide. Was Spock really moving on, choosing to close this chapter of his life and begin anew? Vulcan lifespans were double that off humans, much longer than Jim ever dared dream to live. Maybe Spock was making a way for himself for when Jim was gone. 

“Excuse me gentleman, ladies.” Jim nods politely as he breaks out of the group, fingers pulling at his collar to try and breathe through the stifling heat suddenly enflaming him.  


“Captain?” Chekov asked when the captain bumped his shoulder, sloshing the Russian’s vodka tonic, but Jim just waved him away and pushed the doors to the hall open, leaving behind the buzz of the party. 

There was a bathroom a few paces down, where Jim found himself hunched over the wide, oval sink, wetting his face with palmfuls of water from the gushing faucet. When he’d gotten his breathing evened, he risked a glance at the man in the mirror, unsure of what he’d find. 

But there he was, just over fifty years of age, shaking and puffing as he wiped at the water settling in the creases of his face. Time was hardly ever kind to anyone but Jim felt that it’d be just plain cruel when it’d worn on him. He was carrying weight heavier around his middle, thighs thicker as he struggles with his uniform pants in the morning. His hair, which often was honeyed with the sun, darkened over the years of living under the artificial light of the Enterprise’s confines.

Where had it all gone? Why hadn’t anyone told him thirty years had come and went? He laments, pressing fingers to the wrinkles under his eyes as if to smooth them. The door opens and Jim straightens up, hoping that whoever it is will go directly to a stall and leave him to slink away, confidence in pieces. Instead, he feels a hand between his tight shoulder blades, accompanied with the spark of a like mind. 

Spock. 

“Admiral, may I ask why you’ve decided to hide in the lavatory instead of partaking in tonight’s events?”

Oh, that’s right. Jim had forgotten about the young new Captain of the USS Excelsior who pined for Spock as if they were two blushing youths in high school. The lad had gone as far as asking Spock over to his house for dinner and assistance with his equations on a new sort of hyper-drive. Of course Spock had declined politely, but tonight Jim had agreed for his mate to acknowledge Daniel’s affections and coddle him a bit at the party before leaving for home. The last of many a broken heart in their escapades. 

“Go back to Daniel, Spock. I’ll be out in a second. Just need to…” he caught his breath when the hand traced down the length of his spine, settling on his lower back. 

“I saw you conversing with the Admirals. Did they say something untoward to you?” 

“This isn’t a conversation to have here.” He was shocked that he’d admitted it, because in his earlier years Jim would just as soon have a shouting match in the bathroom. A part of him still wanted to but he was tired. God, when did he get so exhausted? 

“Then let us retire early.” Spock’s breath is purr against the curls of his neck and the promise in his voice warms something in Jim that had been lying in wait for a long time, maybe since eternity. 

“We can’t just leave now,” Jim sighs, turning out of Spock’s hold, eyes on his polished boots. “The party is for us, we need to stay.” 

His Vulcan pressed forward then in an oddly public display, pulling Jim in, tucking his chin in the soft, human curls. They part just as quickly and Spock inclines his head as he opens the door for Jim, asking they leave together. Once in the hallway, Jim has on his bureaucratic smile, the one that has charmed many an authoritative figure, and tries to look forward to Spock courting the young handsome man who’s scanning the crowd as inconspicuously as a beau who’s lost his lover.

\-----------------------------------------------

By the time the music begins and the lights dim, Jim is thoroughly finished with the party and wants to go home, maybe sink into a hot water bath before a week’s worth of rest.  


He tries to pass the time by watching Spock, but he’s off his game tonight, losing Daniel’s attention to an Orion medical officer who keeps tracing the red of Daniel’s alcohol flush. Instead, Spock’s talking with another Vulcan, her dark hair swept up in ringlet curls, pinned with a silver rod that matched the glittering earrings brushing her shoulders. She’s beautiful, wrapped in an orange robe and yellow sash, eyes wide and curious as Spock looks down at her and continues his story. 

Jim wonders if she’s the type of woman Spock would take as a wife once Jim was gone. Maybe even before that. Spock might find that bonding with a Vulcan woman during his next Pon Farr was the logical choice, since Jim’s age was making the next heat seem more dangerous than the past. 

“Admiral Kirk?” 

Jim turns at the voice and finds an androgynous human at his side, a bouquet of sunflowers in hand. 

“These are for you,” they tell him, a smile tilted on their freckled cheeks.

“Thank you but I really shouldn’t accept,” he begins to disappoint but the human shakes their head and insists, pushing the cellophane wrapped stems into his hands. Before he can continue, there’s a Catian at his other side, tail wrapping around his waist, whiskers pressed into his neck. 

“For you,” he whispers, holding out a thick book. His predatory weight comes and goes so quickly that Jim almost topples over from the force of it, just barely catching the book before it falls on the floor. Again, he’s left alone and he eyes the hard bound cover with suspicion. 

“A Tale of Two Cities.” It was a classic, one he’d read in high school for a report, and there was only two people who knew about his fondness for this one. 

“May I have this dance?” A woman’s voice asks then, and Jim smiles as he turns to find Uhura behind him, eyes glittering in the disco ball’s spin. 

“My hands are full,” he laments, only for Christine to take his Communication Officer’s offered hand. 

“Seems like you have some admirers. I wish I had students who wanted to kiss up to me,” Christine teases, laughing with Uhura when Jim rolls his eyes. 

“They weren’t my students. They just gave me these for no reason.” 

“I think maybe they were just messengers then. You’ve caught someone’s eye.” The songs changes, romantic and slow this time, and Uhura pulls for Christine to follow her onto the dance floor. 

When Jim looks around, the room has filled with couples all coming together beneath the soft lights. Bones seems to be the only one without a partner as he makes his way for the bar, a content expression of relief bright in his eyes when he scans the crowd, drink in hand. 

“James,” the breath against his neck raises the hair on his arms and when accompanied with a steady hand curved around his hip, his legs go weak. “I see you have garnered much attention.” Jim dips his head back against his husband’s shoulder and smiles up at him. 

“Who said Vulcans aren’t sentimental?” He asks, taking in the scent of the sunflowers and vicariously seeing the shop his husband had purchased them from.

“I do not believe there was ever an argument against such a premise.” Spock’s raised brow gives Jim a flash of memory, when they were young, when he couldn’t yet discern Vulcan speech just yet, and the same old gesture was familiar, constant, well loved. 

“What of Daniel? You didn’t put much effort into this one. Was he conceited when you two spoke? Or are you losing your touch?” 

The hand on his hip tightened and there were lips against his ear, caressing at the round, soft shell. Between them, the bond twanged, bubbling up in Jim’s stomach like champagne bubbles. Spock never claimed him in public, and even though the lights were turned down, there was a chance they could be seen.

“I have caught what I wanted,” Spock stated, punctuating the emotion with a flash of hot arousal, just as potent and consuming as when they first bonded, pushed across their link with licking flames. 

As the song ended, it faded into something more upbeat, the lights coming up brighter, seeming to unveil them. Spock stepped back, again drawing his Vulcan façade over his flushed cheeks, his smiling eyes, but Jim could see through it and couldn’t stop from reaching out two fingers for his husband to meet. 

“Come home with me,” Spock commanded, his eyes on nothing but Jim, even with the distraction of people milling about in the room, the shine and shimmer of drinks and jewelry and the newly polished crew. 

“Always,” Jim answers, beaming when Spock takes his hand in a firm grip. 

\-------------------------------------------

In the confines of their home, Spock tends to the flowers, placing them in an heirloom vase while Jim carefully uncovers his albums, the dust motes dancing in the amber lights of the Vulcan lamp. When the needle of the record player catches on the groove, it’s like a spark, the music leaping up from nowhere, drawing Spock closer as Jim sways to the tune.  


They press in close, shifting their weight from foot to foot in a soft dance, hands clasped between their bodies. When Jim leans up for a kiss, Spock bumps their noses, opening his mouth against the heat of his bondmate. 

“Spock,” he whispers, breathless, but the Vulcan is lost for a heady moment, eyelashes tickling against his cheeks as he’s kissed soundly. “Spock, wait,” 

“You are unnecessarily worried,” Spock utters into Jim’s jaw line instead of discontinuing his affection, feeding on the tender, blue colored waves of his human’s insecurities. “It is, as humans might say, not a good look for you.” 

Jim gathers enough strength to pull himself out from the torrent that is Spock’s attention, as if he’s coming up for air while drowning. 

“Admiral Kli’tak suggested you would go to Vulcan, to find a proper bondmate-” He’s silenced by his husband’s resonating growl, the sound reverberating against his body where they’re connected, but Jim continues, adamant as he tries to break them apart and look Spock in the eye. “I’m serious, there’s talk that you’re going to pursue someone ‘better suited’ for you-”

At that, Spock lets himself be pushed away, a perplexed, angry expression marring his blank face. His eye brows are drawn down, taken back as if Jim has personally slighted him.  


“You believe I would leave you? After all of this?” His sentence spears Kirk, emphasized with his betrayed tone and the heavy implications of what ‘this’ is. All of the late nights Spock spent capturing others' attention to retire with only Kirk, every failed mission where they spent days at each other’s bed side, the house they built here on Earth, the t’hy’la union forged between their very souls, did none of that mean anything to Jim? 

Their bond dithers like tempest waves, unsettled with the idea that after all they have endured, Jim still feels as if Spock will desert him. 

But there’s something in Jim’s eyes, a tired, small, trembling thing, that makes Spock question how long his human has hidden this distress. 

“You’ll need someone to continue on with you when I’m gone,” Jim pleads, the honesty of his voice hardening his expression. 

“Illogical, we are t’hy’la.” 

“You know that when I die,”

“Jim, cease.” A beat of silence, and then, “I have only known you. There has been no one before and there will be no one after. I see no reason to find something to replace what I have worked so hard to earn. Do you not see? My loyalties are to you and you alone, my husband, my bondmate.” He tenderly grasps at Jim’s hand, reveling in the relief that cools his wounds. 

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” Jim quotes and Spock kisses him in fear that he will continue to hide behind the words. 

Their lips linger after they’ve exhausted their exploration and they find themselves falling into bed like so many nights before, and yet it’s new. There’s an eagerness to verify the strong entity between them, something Spock had assumed Jim always felt in their times before, the renewed passion fanning into a sinuous smolder as Jim repays Spock’s incessant loyalty with a soft mouth against his throat, fingers dipping into the moist sheath where Spock’s lok stirs, interested. 

There’s a tender nip at his adam’s apple that makes Spock arch into Jim’s pliant body, keening when the hot human fingers slide through his body’s lubrication, wetting him as if they were young and insatiable again. 

“So you wouldn’t want to serve beneath someone else on the Enterprise?” Jim asks and, while his tone seems flippant, Spock can discern the underlying need for affirmation. It’s still odd to think that their ship, once the only home they both knew, will be given to some other crew. No matter how inevitable, to picture anyone else in the Captain’s chair is blasphemy.

“Never.” 

“Not even some logical, young, well taught blonde?” Jim’s thumb presses the growing lok as if to push it back into its sheath, and Spock shudders at the sensation, at the bitter, blithe voice Jim’s trying to hack him with. 

“No, Captain,”

Jim ruts his cock against his bondmate’s hip, hiding his face in the bony shoulder as he moans low, his hand stilling its ministrations as he tries to recover. Spock always knew how to draw him in, always the predator, knows where to push and when to submit. 

“Again,” Jim cries and Spock licks the tears on the crinkles of his eyes, rolling to meet Jim’s erection with his own, grasping them both in hand and slowly rolling with Jim’s thrusts. 

“Captain,” Spock moans against his lips and it’s the end. They come together like that, their kisses salty and wet with human tears, Jim’s hitched moaning punctuating his release as if he couldn’t breathe. 

The record in the living room has stopped and the only sounds are Spock’s affectionate purring and a contented sigh from Jim. 

“I love you.” The words are warm and soft in the bare space between their bodies and the answering “I know,” are just as sweet as the first time he had said it, thirty years, a life time ago.


	5. Come What May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saavik and Spock have much to discuss in the wake of Jim's passing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will say that in this chapter Jim has already passed of old age. There are no heavy descriptions of the death nor of the funeral setting so as not to upset any of my readers, but be cautious, it is a little somber.
> 
> Also, I am taking the most flexible, vague liberties with how David and Saavik are characterized here. The entire story has not been either TOS or AOS, so I wanted this chapter to follow those lines. Don't look too deeply between the lines because the logic won't hold up, ok? Just go with the flow.

The inevitable is no less sudden, its blow still sharp and unpredicted when it finally comes, no matter what is done to defend. Spock struggles to swallow the hard knot in his throat as he lets the emotions of the room crest around him like waves against a lighthouse. Amongst the grieving masses, he is tall, imposing, carved of stone. There are displays of bereavement which range so vast and varied between cultures, species, races, all of which hold no candle to the silent heartache Spock experiences as he takes deep, measured breaths, and traces the name on the epitaph with his eyes. 

James Tiberius Kirk.

The faces in the crowd are not familiar, not the men and women who had served with them on the Enterprise all those years ago. They too were buried, scattered, well remembered in some place far from here, but the sorrow of their loss was a burden shared with his bondmate at his side. Never alone. Never like this. 

“I grieve with thee.”

Spock turns his stern expression to Saavik and recognizes the weight of anguish in the woman’s slim shoulders. She’s much too young, Spock muses, to suffer a loss like this, and reflecting in the young Vulcan’s eyes he knows Saavik believes Spock is much too old for the same. 

Beside her, dressed in the traditional black suit and tie, is her partner, David Marcus, who’s doing a fair job at subduing his own human emotions. Spock reaches with his katra, brushing against the human shield and letting the sadness, the sting, the choking sensation nip at himself, comforting in their sharpness. The numbing void in his mind where his bond twists, uprooted and withering, prickles with the human’s emotional tumult, and as Spock reaches to the human’s face, guided by the light, the warmth of the human’s mind, Saavik steps forward, her eyes sad, and catches Spock’s hand. 

But Marcus waves his girlfriend away and draws the elder’s hands into his own, sending waves of his own love for Jim as a mentor, a father figure, the one who gave David the courage to even approach Saavik, toward Spock and smiled in the midst of his tears. 

“We’ll miss him too,” he says simply, and with a squeeze of his fingers, Marcus left under the assumption his emotional outburst was too much for his Vulcan counterparts. Saavik stays though, her eyes on David as he receives a tissue from a Klingon classmate, and Spock ponders on how things change, how they stay the same.

Together, these two will be an unstoppable pair. Spock sees much of their old selves in this new generation, David with his passion and Saavik with her logic, and a piece of Spock wonders if Saavik will halt their fledging relationship now that it is clear that even a t’hy’la bond will not stop death. 

“Illogical,” Saavik states, as if a curse, and Spock remembers her heightened telepathy and his own fraying shields. “David may pass but that does not hinder the time I have until then.” 

When they turn to each other, Spock is relieved that she too has tears glassing her eyes, her lashes wet as she continues. “Even knowing how it hurts, if it was possible, would you stop your younger self from loving Jim?” Her question holds more indignation than is proper and Spock sees parts of Jim in her, just as there are parts of him in David. 

“Of course not.” 

“Then you do him a disservice with such little hope in us. He may have moved on, but we as a family will prevail, all will be at peace.” Spock bends his head as his grief tightens in his chest, Saavik putting a hand on his shoulder in a familiar gesture. “It will pass.” Is her promise, and Spock remembers that she has already lost both biological parents, now Jim as well. 

“Come, you need meditation. You have lingered too long here.” 

“Saavik, I am needed here,” his eyes follow the stems of the sun flowers someone had brought to decorate the casket, “Many species require comfort in times of duress.” 

"But Vulcans require a secluded respite. David will attend to this, so you need not worry.”

He tried to argue but Saavik posed the perfect argument. Nothing more could be done here, simmering in the anguish and misery of the masses. So the two of them left the ceremony, stone faced and cold, to Saavik’s hover craft waiting outside. 

\----------------------------------------

There is a peace that was unobtainable with Jim gone, but as Saavik lit the incense and pulled at the upward pendulum of her metronome, Spock felt his mind ease. The scent and sound reminded him of when Saavik had come to him as an orphan, in much need of mental training and he had used the hot ember glow of his fire pit and the mechanical tick of the metered metronome to help construct her own head-space. It’s been years since she was small enough to sit in his lap, her katra demanding entrance as he tried to temper her mind, teach her the tranquility all Vulcans could achieve if they focused hard enough. 

Now, with her doing the same for him, he feels as if it all has come full circle. There must be nothing left. 

“Quiet.” 

Spock ticks his eyebrow up at her tone and he can’t help the weary, parental sigh, “Since when do you take such a tone with me?” 

She opens her eyes, concentration broken.

“I fear for you.” Is all Saavik says after they share a long stare down, and of all the things Spock expected to come forth, that was not something he accounted for. “Your mind is in chaos over this, which is understandable. But you suffer unjustly. You must take another mate-“

But before the idea can take any more shape, Spock steels his expression, the slant of his eye brows sharp as they pinch together, disappointed. “You dare speak of that now?” 

“I wish only to know whether you will continue or if I should lose you too.” 

Between them, the air crackles with the ire of their shared pain, the idea that Spock was too much a martyr to continue on, daring to leave Saavik alone with truly no family. 

“Saavik…my child,” Spock meets her pitiless gaze, for once, feeling much, much older than is possible. “What I choose to do has no logic. Jim had aleady given his permission for me to find a suitable partner with which to sate the blood fever once he is gone. All organisms seek to extend their lives in whatever way permissible and yet…” his voice is rough like the wind beaten mounts of Vulcan, “I know that my body and mind will take no other. Jim was it. I will meditate when the Pon Farr approaches and if I survive, then so be it. And if I am taken by the flames then I hope against odds that wherever my soul ends up, he is there.”

“Such frivolous emotion,” Saavik whispers, fingers white knuckled as she clenches them on her knees, eyes down cast. “But if you insist on doing it that way, then I only request that you allow me to marry David within the year, while you are still here.” 

The swell of emotion in him is confusing with its sudden shift. 

“He has asked you?” 

Saavik nods, and pulls a silver chain from beneath the collar of her robe. It’s simple, well foraged, and in the dim light, it twinkles like the stars. 

“As it is tradition for one’s parents to approve of the joining, I told him I would seek your blessing the next occasion we spoke.” 

Spock remembers how a week ago he had commed Saavik for the first time in six months, her calm mood shattering when he spoke the news of Jim’s passing. She had wanted to tell both of them. 

“David is most auspicious and very…human,” Spock articulates sagely after a somber pause and it’s all Saavik needs to bolster herself, nodding in acceptance and wiping at her wet cheeks, embarrassed with it all. “I will attend your wedding; you need only set a date.” 

She nods and they fall back into their own headspaces, the metronome still swinging evenly, the stick of incense smoldered to white ash.  
“Jim would have been incorrigibly happy about this news.”

There’s a small dimple on her cheek where she restrains her smile and it’s mirrored in Spock as he pictures Jim walking her down the aisle, crying as he toasts the couple at the reception, dancing with her first before giving her to David. 

Instead, it would be Spock, and for both it would be a beginning and an end.


	6. There Was No Doubt

“Ready?” David asks as he rubs a hand of comfort on her shoulder but Saavik shakes her head, shrugs off his human affection. 

They had been buried together, Jim and Spock, side by side, and Saavik made it a mission to set sunflowers at their memorials on the New Moon of each month. Vulcan had had no moon, and she finds comfort in the bare sky here on Earth, something David never understood but accepted. 

They’d been married only three months when Spock’s fever spiked and the Vulcan Healers say he gave no fight when the time came. It was almost like a blowing out a candle, one minute there was heat, was flame, was life, and next, a soft breath, and then just the smoke of memories. 

Saavik cannot understand how one would chose such, to just…cease to be. She tries to imagine it like letting your body drown, never kicking your legs to swim, no struggling to the surface, being able to keep your lungs full of water and brine. 

“Sweetheart?” 

“We can go now.” Saavik quickly agrees as she stands, knowing that her husband loathes lingering here at his father’s grave. But how can he not understand it gives reminder that they had really lived, loved, lasted all those years? 

David senses her dismal mood and kisses at the sharp bone of her cheek, a hand in her curls as he hugs her tight to him. “Will you do that too when I die? Refuse to remarry, even if it means-“

She doesn’t let him say the word, not so close to where they are laid to rest, and instead starts walking back toward their hovercraft, the breeze from the bay ruffling her Command gold tunic. 

“Female Vulcans are not affected as severely as the men.” There is much she has yet to tell him, but she figures Jim has let some secrets be known throughout the years. “It is quite the sacrifice…to stay loyal to a mate whom has passed, even when knowing it dooms you as well.”

The words salt the air and David’s heart twists forlornly at his wife’s tone. “They really loved each other.” 

“I know.”


End file.
